


Seven Fitzsimmons

by penvision



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Romance, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7222177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penvision/pseuds/penvision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My collection of Fitzsimmons one-shots and drabbles.  All except the last were written during season 1 and are non-canon compliant. I wanted to put them in one place and hopefully will write more of these two in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. falling

She turns to him. Leans back. Floats, suspended, above the ramp. And then she is gone.

Since the moment it happened, it is all that he sees every time he closes his eyes.

He thought that he would be okay after Ward's voice echoed over the intercom; he had caught her, the vaccine ("anti-serum" she chirps) worked, and he felt his chest loosen. But there was still a knot pushing against his diaphragm, still a lump in his throat that he could not swallow down.

He thought that he would be okay when Skye let out a squeal and crushed him against her in a hug. Thought that he should be better than okay, ecstatic, even, as he wrapped his arms around her. But he let his shoulders relax, his eyes close, and her tear stained face filled his vision, his mind replaying the moment she fell back over and over and over and over…

He thought that he would be okay when they landed in Casablanca forty five minutes later, hands releasing his seat belt and feet carrying him down the still moving ramp, his mind repeating 'finally, finally, finally, finally.' But as his feet touched solid ground and his eyes searched desperately for her an agent appeared ("boats aren't back yet.")

He thought that he would be okay when he offered his hand to her at the dock, helping her out of the boat and unceremoniously yanking her against his chest, arms wrapping around her solid, ("Fitz!") safe, ("I'm soaking!") breathing, ("I'm sorry, sorry, sorry") non-infected form. But she hugged him back, fingers digging into his shoulders, face burying into his neck, hot moisture that was definitely not sea water tickling his skin, and the lump in his throat was suddenly impassible.

He thought that he would be okay after she left his bunk. But his cheek burned where her lips had pressed and he closed his eyes, exhausted, and she was falling, falling, falling, falling.

He wakes with a start, pillow clutched in his hands, fingers digging into the soft down, joints locked. His biceps ache and he thinks (knows) that he strained his muscles against the immovable lab door. His throat itches and he thinks (knows) that he screamed it raw. His eyes are uncomfortably dry, but the top of the pillow is soaked, and he does not think about that at all. He thought that he would be, but Leo Fitz is not okay.

He sets the wrinkled and abused pillow down on the too small, too stiff mattress and stands, knees popping in protest. He barely has to extend his hand to reach the door in the compact, bare room, and all at once is homesick for his flat and his ("their" she would say) lab and that stupid shop with the crap coffee that she used to drag him to and damn if that lump in his throat is not back-

"Fitz?" He is standing in her doorway, hand on her door handle.

"I- uh." She looks exhausted, sitting up with her limbs curled into her, bloodshot eyes watching him expectantly. He slides the door closed behind him and steps up to her bed, pulling her mother's quilt off of the edge and sitting next to her, his back against the wall. "Can't sleep?"

She bites her lip, silent for a few moments, and he knows that look; she is debating what to tell him. She plays with a corner of the quilt. "Every time." She takes a deep breath. "Every time I close my eyes I see you screaming."

He swallows around the seemingly permanent lump in his throat and slips his eyes closed, "you turn to me. Lean back. Float, suspended, above the ramp. And then you're gone."

He feels her hand slip into his, feels their fingers intertwine, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Leo."

He opens his eyes and tugs on her hand, "come here."

She slides into his lap, her tired limbs protesting, and rests her head on his shoulder as he unfolds the quilt and smothers them in it. He winds his arms around her waist and places a chaste kiss in her hair. She fiddles with his tie, "we should talk."

He feels her chest rise and fall against him, her breath tickling his neck, and pulls her a little closer, kissing her hair again. "Tomorrow." She pulls back, eyes searching his face, hands winding behind his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He licks his lips and rests his forehead against hers, smiling, "Jemma…"

"Hmm?" Her fingers brush against the knot at the base of his skull and she flinches, pulling back, but he rests his hand between her shoulder blades, stopping her. "I'm sorry-"

"Can I kiss you?"

She nods and leans forward, tentatively brushing her lips against his, hand slipping further into his hair. She presses closer, firmer, and he feels the knot on his diaphragm loosen as he cards his fingers through her hair and kisses her back.

They pull apart, eyes meeting, "now we have to talk."

He nods and kisses her forehead, "tomorrow."

She tugs gently at one of his curls, "you okay?"

He leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes, feels her lay her head on his shoulder. And sees nothing. "Yeah."


	2. Monkey

Leo groggily rubs his calloused fingers over his eyes, cool wedding ring knocking against the bridge of his nose, as he swings open the worn front door. A few fluffs of snowflakes drift around and past him as he steps over the threshold and unceremoniously drops his briefcase at his feet, wincing at the dull thunk, "I'm home!" His chilled hands fumble with the buttons of his overcoat as he slips out of his loafers, foot nudging the door closed behind him as his four-year-old daughter, all brown curls and blue eyes and giggles, appears at the end of the hall.

"Daddy!"

Tired as he is, he cannot help genuinely smiling, his coat joining his shoes and briefcase on the floor, a small pool of melted snow forming around them, as he drops to his knees and opens his arms. His daughter barrels into his chest, her arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls her against him, kissing the top of her head. "Hello, monkey."

He stands up with her still secure in his arms and settles her onto his hip before kissing her cheek. She immediately pushes against his chest, squirming in his arms. "Daddy no! You're itchy!"

Leo strokes his cheeks and chin with his free hand, callouses catching on the day old stubble, "so I am. Do you know what that makes me?" She shakes her head. "The itchy monster!" He kisses her cheek over and over again, causing her to shriek and giggle, and starts walking them down the hall, grabbing a black aluminum cane leaning against the bathroom door frame as they pass it. "How was your day?"

She catches her breath and shouts "uncle Phil was here!"

Leo pulls back to look at her, surprised, "he was?"

She nods happily "he wanted to talk to you and mommy, but you weren't here, so he just talked to mommy. He wants you and mommy to go on a field trip."

His hand grips the cane tighter. "Mommy and I don't go on field trips anymore."

"That's what mommy said. He brought me LEGOs! And we were going to have a tea party with the dwarfs but his phone rang and he had to go but you know what daddy?"

"What's that, monkey?"

"He still had my pink crown in his hair when he left! And mommy didn't tell him! And she put her finger against her mouth like this," she makes a shushing motion, "when he wasn't looking so I didn't tell him either!" Leo laughs, his daughter's energy infectious, as they round the corner into the family room/toy room/home lab. "And guess what?" He opens his mouth but she is already onto the next sentence, "I made a picture in school today! I'll show you!" She wriggles in his arms, "down, daddy!"

"Ok, ok." Leo sets her down and bends to kiss her forehead, missing as she sprints past him.

Jemma looks up from her microscope, both exasperated and amused, "no running in the house, Melinda!" She swivels in her chair to face her husband, taking in his rumpled hair, his light stubble, his sunken eyes, and stands up, crossing the room to him.

He watches her face for any signs of pain as she lightly limps on her left foot, "cane works better when it's in the same room as you, darling."

He holds it out to her. "I can get around this floor of the house just fine without it." She wraps her fingers around his proffered wrist and tugs tenderly, pulling him to her for a soft kiss.

He sets the cane against the wall and pulls her into his arms, burying his face in her neck as she runs her fingers through his hair. "I know," his voice is muffled against her skin, and he sighs into her when she rakes her nails against his scalp, "I just…" His right hand settles on her left hip, thumb slipping under her shirt and caressing her skin.

"Worry. But I'm okay, Melinda's okay." She kisses his temple. "Are you?"

He nods, hands pressing into her back as he pulls her closer, nuzzling his nose against her collarbone. "Just tired. Twenty two hours straight, but impending disaster averted."

Melinda sprints back into the room and holds up a piece of construction paper in both hands, "daddy look!"

Leo lifts his head and turns to face his daughter, inspecting her artwork; a crudely drawn bright pink hellicarrier. He raises his eyebrows, impressed. "Wow, that looks great, monkey."

Jemma intertwines their fingers, "Mrs. Anderson says she has quite the imagination."

"Daddy, will you show me the rotary engines one day?"

Leo scoops her into his arms again, "of course, who do you think perfected them?"

"Tony Stark?"

He scoffs, mortified, "Tony? Tony Stark? You think Tony Stark could design four rotary engines on an invisible ship?" Melinda giggles, Jemma raises an eyebrow, and Leo sighs, "he helped. A little. A fair amount. Why don't we play LEGOs?"

"But I never got to play tea party! The dwarfs are still waiting, daddy!"

"Tea party? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He sighs, "okay, monkey. Give mommy a kiss." Jemma leans against him as Melinda kisses her cheek. "And now mommy gives monkey a kiss." Jemma kisses her daughter's cheek and tickles her stomach, eliciting a shriek of laughter. "And daddy gives mommy a kiss," he places a kiss on his wife's forehead, smiling, "and lastly… itchy monster gives monkey a kiss!"

"Daddy no!"


	3. fish tank

8:00 PM

"Time's up, Fitzsimmons, we need to evacuate. Now!" Ward's voice echoed through the warehouse, along with an unsteady pounding and shouts in French.

Fitz continued typing desperately "Thirty seconds!"

"No, now!" Ward yanked his shoulder back, pulling him away from the computer. Shots tear through the windows, shattering glass and ripping through aluminum.

"Look, we need this, or else the last three days will have been for nothing."

"They'll be through that door any second-"

Jemma rested her hand on his elbow and he whipped his head around to look at her, "Leo, please."

He nodded, "ok-"

Blood splattered against her blouse as his head snapped back. "FITZ!"

8:12 PM

Jemma and Skye jogged behind the paramedics pushing the stretcher, one carrying an IV bag in his free hand and another sitting on top delivering steady chest compressions, sweat forming on his brow, as the ER's trauma team shouldered through the doors to meet them.

"What do we got?"

She could only glimpse his feet; mud caked loafers jiggling around as the stretcher wheels bounced on the tile.

"Multiple gunshot wounds, cardiac arrest, partially collapsed lung, heavy blood loss."

"Patient reactive?"

"Unresponsive."

The trauma doctor turned to one of the nurses. "Defibrillator?"

She wheeled the crash cart alongside the stretcher as the paramedic administering the chest compressions hopped off. "Charged."

"Clear?"

"Clear!" "Clear!"

Jemma watched his chest lift off of the stretcher, spine contorting in ways she previously thought impossible.

"Set up life support, blood transfusion, prep for surgery. Clear?"

"Clear!" "Clear!"

The stretcher, surrounded by bodies moving in a rehearsed, memorized, frantic dance and carrying the most important, only important person, in her life, disappeared through the ER doors, her and Skye following. One of the paramedics, the one that had been giving chest compressions, released the stretcher and faced them, holding up his hand.

He was sweaty and winded and covered in splotches of blood, "I'm sorry, ladies, but this is as far as you go."

Jemma tried to side step him, "but Fitz-"

The paramedic inspected her with a trained eye. "Are you bleeding?"

She glanced down, just noticing the blood covering her hands and blouse. "No, it's his-"

"Are you injured?"

"No, I'm fine, but-"

"You?" He turned to Skye, who blinked as if just noticing herself.

"N-No."

"I'm sorry, you'll have to wait here. They're taking him into surgery."

Jemma tried to push by him again. "I can help-"

"We'll keep you updated."

…

8:15 PM

Jemma stood in front of the ER doors where the paramedic had left them, lost. Skye was near the front doors staring out of the window, cell phone to her ear. "They just took him back, he's in surgery. …No, we haven't heard anything…"

The ER door swung open, knocking into Jemma's feet and stopping millimeters from her nose, the young paramedic's hand securing it. He gave her a small smile and waited for her to focus on him. "Ma'am?" She brought her eyes to meet his, barely comprehending his sudden presence. "We've got a steady heartbeat. It's beating on its own. So…" She nodded, wringing her fingers together. "Let's get that blood off of your hands."

…

8:50 PM

Jemma paced the long waiting room with clipped, frantic steps, fingers worrying an unstained corner of her blouse, eyes glazed over; unseeing. Skye sighed as Jemma momentarily blocked the view of the television for the 60th time, she was counting, some new, mildly funny sitcom barely holding her attention. "Simmons."

Jemma did not pause, the receptionist eying her as she passed the desk. "Hmm?"

"Why don't you sit down? Before you wear a hole in the floor."

Jemma looked up, eyes slowly focusing on the hacker. "Oh. Ah. Ok." Skye patted the seat next to her as she crossed the room. "Cool fish tank." Skye nodded her head toward the fishtank perpendicular to their row of worn, lumpy chairs. "Its got Nemo and Dory in it." Jemma smiled at that, watching the clown fish dart in and out of its pink anemone. "I bet you could name every species of fish in there."

"I could name the coral. Fitz could tell you what kind of locomotion they each use."

Skye watched the fish drift in and out of the coral. "Tell me about them. The fish?"

Jemma's hands paused their pulling of her blouse, fingers entangled in the wrinkled fabric, and raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You want to know about the fish."

Skye shrugged. "Sure, tv show's stupid, anyway."

Jemma focused on the fish tank, taking it in for the first time since they arrived. The nightlight was on, giving the tank an eerie blue glow, the fish either hiding in the coral or letting the artificial current push and pull them, the polyp tentacles of the coral emerging to feed and filter the water. "See that red one with the black stripes? That's a flame angelfish. The brightest ones come from the Marshall Islands, where the US tested their nuclear bombs during the 50s."

Jemma watched the fish swim into a space between the corals and disappear. "Is that why they're brighter?"

"No, but it makes it a memorable fish. Dory is a blue hippo tang, they can be very aggressive."

"Dory? Aggressive? I can't believe it. Disney lied to me again."

…

10:05 PM

Jemma walked back from the receptionist's desk and sat down, sighing.

"So how's he doing?"

"Still in surgery." She looked at the ceiling and blinked back tears.

Skye put her arm around her shoulder, pulling the biologist into her side, "sorry, stupid question." Jemma leaned her head against Skye's for a few seconds, trying to will her eyes to clear. "Tell me how you first met."

Jemma let out a soft laugh, "it's really boring."

"Try me."

She bit her lip, debating where to begin. "We had a few classes at university together, before SHIELD. He always sat in front of me. Never said much, kept his head down and just took notes."

Skye sipped on her can of Pepsi, procured from the vending machine with change she had dug up from the chair cushions, "how'd you even know who he was?"

"Everyone knew who he was. Who I was. We were the youngest students there by two years, and the top of our class."

"Double doctorate, right."

Jemma watched the particles in the water shimmer in and out of view under the night light. "I got along with the older girls just fine, had a small group of mother hens, almost, but the engineering classes were all male, except for me, and they were very intimidating."

Skye nodded mockingly, "geeky engineering students, I know what you mean."

Jemma rolled her eyes, "geeky engineering students that didn't know how to act around a girl, much less a girl that was smarter than them.

Another sip. "Point taken."

"Fitz was hardly any better. I started sitting next to him third week in, took him until finals to say anything more than 'hi,' or 'bye.' First full sentence? 'You're shoelace is untied.'" Skye snorted. "Neither of us went home during winter break, one day he saw me playing Halo on the xbox in our dorm's lounge, sat down next to me, watched for a few minutes, and told me I sucked. I challenged him to a match, kicked his Scottish ass, and we spent the entire break eating popcorn, drinking soda, and playing video games."

Skye raised an eyebrow, "wait. You two bonded over video games?"

Jemma nodded. "We still play them all of the time, there's a room on the bus dedicated to it."

"Thaaat's what you two were doing in there. I owe Ward a case of beer."

"What'd you think we were doing?"

"Hmm?" Skye looked at her nails, "nothing. Continue."

"With what?"

"How'd you two get recruited by SHIELD?"

…

11:30 PM

"We come baring gifts." Ward held the door to the waiting room open as Coulson and May entered with trays of steaming coffee and greased bags of Chinese.

Coulson set the coffees down as Jemma stood, pulling her into a semi-awkward but still comforting hug. "Sorry we couldn't get here sooner. Protocol. Debriefings. That sort of thing. How's he doing?"

She sat down and grabbed a cup of coffee, letting it warm her hands. "Still in surgery."

Coulson sat down next to her and placed a hand on her back. "I'm sorry this happened, Simmons."

She placed the coffee down. "It wasn't anyone's fault."

"I'm still sorry. You should eat." Coulson handed her a tub of white rice, easy on the stomach, and headed over to the receptionist's desk, badge in hand.

She stuck a plastic fork into the rice but ignored it, looking back to the fish tank as a school of cardinal fish floated by.

…

12:59 AM

Skye's head rolled back, knocking against the wall, a snore escaping her open mouth. May stood by the door and watched the street, arms crossed, while Coulson and Ward stared at the pocket hose infomercial. Jemma leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, but no sleep came.

…

1:30 AM

The ER doors swung open with an oiled squeak, one of the trauma nurses emerging. Ward, Coulson, and Jemma began to rise out of their chairs, Ward elbowing Skye in the ribs, causing her to snort and jolt awake, but the nurse motioned for them to sit.

He took a seat across from the team and glanced at his chart. "He's out of surgery and stable. They're getting him settled in an unspecified single patient room upstairs as per your," he eyed Coulson, "very formal request. We strongly recommend not relocating him for at least 24 hours, either way he should be monitored in a medical facility for a minimum of three days."

Jemma leaned forward, elbows on her knees, "can we see him?"

"Not until he's settled, and he'll be unconscious for quite some time. But it shouldn't be more than twenty minutes, forty at most. Visiting hours don't start until eight, but I should be able to get one or two of you in to visit."

Coulson reached across the table and shook his hand, "thank you, nurse."

…

2:30 AM

Jemma was back to pacing, her strides a little longer and slower than before, hands at her sides instead of tied into her blouse. Skye had kept her mind distracted, but the hacker had been out for hours. Coulson made occasional comments, but no conversations had developed, while May and Ward remained silent.

"It was forty minutes twenty minutes ago."

Jemma paused in front of the fish tank, its glass side catching her eye. Blood blotches reflected back at her, looking for a moment like the tank itself was bleeding. She stared as the cardinals seem to swim through it, their gold bodies becoming blood red as they passed. She did not hear May leave, did not hear the television, did not hear Skye's snoring, or Ward trying to tap the last of the coffee out of his cup.

…

2:45 AM

Soft cotton filled her hands, she blinked and looked away from the bloody fish tank, down at her hands. A clean white t-shirt rested in them. She looked to her left to find May standing there holding a gray sweatshirt and jeans. "Come on, let's get you changed."

…

3:28 AM

Coulson cleared away the empty coffee cups and Chinese containers as Ward set the two trays of fresh coffee down on the years-old magazines that scattered the surface of the glass table. He picked two up and sat down in between the fish tank and newly conscious Skye, offering her one.

She sipped at it happily, and they both looked at the fish tank. She pointed when the blue tang darted out of the coral. "Did you know Dory's a tang? And they can be aggressive?"

Ward blinked. "What's a 'Dory?'"

Skye rolled her eyes at him, "you know, Dory, 'just keep swimming…'" Ward raised his eyebrows. "Wait. Have you never seen Finding Nemo?"

"No. Is that a movie?"

"What is wrong with you?"

"I don't really have the time-"

The stairwell door next to the receptionist's desk opened as the nurse stepped out, "sorry about the wait, I can only take one of you."

…

3:35 AM

The nurse paused, his hand on the handle, "he's still asleep, but he's doing better than expected, he'll wake up on his own." Jemma nodded, and the nurse opened the door.

She paused just inside the door, feet stuck, and watched him, he lay with his hands at his sides, over the blanket, eyes and mouth closed, and her heart clenched at the unnaturalness. Fitz did not sleep on his back, but on his side, arms wrapped around something; a pillow, his stuffed monkey, her, mouth slightly open; his breath puffing into her hair.

But then his chest raised, slow and deep, and fell, and raised again, and her heart unclenched and her feet moved her forward. He was breathing on his own, no machines hooked up, except the heart monitor beeping steadily, he was alive and and whole, if slightly holey.

She pulled up a chair and intertwined their fingers, laying her head on the mattress, and fell asleep.

…

8:00 AM

Jemma winced as a sliver of sunlight tickled her eyes and rolled her face into the mattress, groaning, a soft weight shifting on her head. She slowly became aware of a steady beep filling the room, of fingers carding through her hair. She lifted her head as his hand fell away.

"H-" Leo cleared his throat, swallowed, tried again, "hi." Jemma stood and leaned her forehead against his, blinking back tears. He cupped her cheeks, swiping his thumbs under her eyes, and brushed his lips against hers. "Why are you crying? I'm ok. Don't cry." He kissed her again, fingers slipping into her hair. "I'm ok." She nodded, their foreheads still touching. "C'mere, crawl into bed and watch tv with me."

"Fitz…"

He pulled the blanket up, "the stitches'll hold, and I'm floating on morphine, bed's plenty big. Perks of being an agent." He motioned again, "come on."

…

8:05 AM

She lay tucked into his side without her weight on him, head pillowed against his neck, his right arm hugging her shoulder, left on her hip, nose buried in her hair, both asleep while Finding Nemo played quietly on the tv.


	4. catalyst

Skye yawned into her SHIELD coffee mug as she shuffled into the lab, eyes squinting as the bright lights hit her, laptop tucked safely under her arm, "good morning…" Neither of the scientists glanced away from the glowing hologram of a dissected device as the doors slid shut behind her, although Jemma managed an unenthusiastic half-wave in her general direction. She rolled her eyes at the pair; Leo was looking over Jemma's shoulder, their heads touching, with his chest pressed against part of her back, while they both tapped their chins. She took in the rest of the lab as she made her way to her desk; empty mugs and glasses were scattered on most of the flat surfaces including, Skye noted as she cleared them and a half finished bowl of popcorn, her new workstation. "It's six in the morning… wherever we are, have you two gotten any sleep?"

Leo stepped back, yawning, and motioned for the bowl Skye was still holding, his hand searching blindly before successfully locating and grabbing a handful of stale popcorn, "not yet, but getting this energy source to work without overheating is the last piece of the proverbial puzzle. And then we can start actually building the bloody thing." He shoved the popcorn into his mouth, a few kernels escaping his hand and tumbling to the floor.

Jemma took a sip from a nearby mug and grimaced, her nose scrunching up as she forced a swallow, and gave Skye a small smile. "Just a few more hours away from a nice, long, nap." She twirled one of the holograms with her finger, tapping her chin again. "There's no avoiding it, we'll have to use an electrocatalyst."

Leo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "An electrocatalyst, exactly." He turned to Skye, hand waving at the hologram and his partner. "That's what I said in the first place."

Skye jumped as Jemma smacked the mug onto the smart board table, dark liquid bouncing out of it and onto the screen. "Why do you always have to be right?"

He looked simultaneously confused and insulted. "Well, yeah- no, but I am right, though. So… we've just wasted half an hour arguing over nothing. Again. And," he motioned toward the table, "you're making a mess."

"Analyzing other options. It's not a waste, its protocol." She rubbed her palms against her eyes, annoyed and exhausted. "And who got popcorn all over the floor?"

"Not when we have three hours left, and I still have to build the bloody mechanism. Stop being such a perfectionist for once."

She let out a sharp laugh. "Oh I'm the perfectionist? What version of the dwarfs are we on again?"

"How is that even relevant?"

Jemma threw up her hands and stalked toward the doors, yanking her lab coat off of a chair as she passed. "Ugh Fitz, you are driving me crazy!"

"So you're just going to leave? Fine, your part's done, anyway! I'll just …" she disappeared up the spiral stairs, "build the stupid thing myself." He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Damn."

Skye set her laptop down and booted it up while settling into her chair. "So how long have you two been married? Twenty years? Thirty?"

"Ha. Ha." Leo turned away from the stairs and started moving around the lab collecting different materials, upper torso disappearing into a cabinet for a few seconds before reemerging with another part.

She sipped her coffee and watched him move from cabinet to table and back, a small pile of parts starting to form as he worked. "I haven't seen you two bicker since the, you know, chitari helmet thing. It's nice, in a weird, dysfunctional, 'only works for you two' kind of way." He stopped at the table, zoomed in on a part of the hologram, and started assembling pieces. It reminded Skye of playing with LEGOs, except these were all boring shades of gray. "She likes you, you know."

Leo set down his screwdriver and glared at her, frowning even more at her widening smirk. "Can we not have this conversation right now? I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I have," he glanced at his watch, "two hours and forty minutes to build a working prototype. By myself."

She propped her feet up on his chair and rested her hands behind her head, making a show of getting comfortable. "Which just means that you can't go anywhere. And that last part's your own fault."

He eyed her feet on his chair; invading his personal space. "I'm seriously regretting agreeing to let you use the lab with us."

"Hindsight's twenty-twenty," she wiggled her feet deeper into his cushion, "which is why I don't understand how you haven't kissed her yet. I mean," she sat up, serious, elbows on her knees, "she almost died, Fitz."

He paused, hands falling onto the table, and closed his eyes. "Please don't remind me, I think about it enough as it is, alright? Besides," he sighed and shook his head, hands returning to fiddling, "it'd never work."

"Why not?"

He waved the screwdriver around absentmindedly as he tried to formulate his thoughts. "There's no… mystery left, nothing new to discover, no little surprises. I already know everything about her. I've met her grandparents, for god's sake."

Skye rolled her eyes. "Really? That's your excuse? You know for a genius you're a real idiot. First off," she ticked her index finger, "that's amazing. Do you know how many people dream of knowing someone that well? You don't just finish each others' sentences, you finish each others' thoughts, I've never seen anyone else do that. Secondly, you guys spend every waking minute together anyway, you like all of the same weird stuff; movies, video games, food…"

He huffed. "So I should date my best friend of eight years because we get on and she might like me?"

"No, you should date your best friend of… eight years?" she raised her eyebrows, "really?"

He counted in his head. "Yeah. Well, eight years and three months, technically." He scratched the back of his ear.

Skye picked at her fingernails, a frown marring her features. "Wow, I've never known anyone for eight years." She looked back up at the engineer, angry. "You know what, Fitz? I'm super jealous of you two." He readjusted the hologram, ignoring her. "You're both crazy about each other. And how can you say that there's nothing new to discover? You can't stand there and tell me that you haven't learned new things about Jemma every day since joining this bus, team, thing. Whatever we are."

He sighed, rubbing at his sore eyes. "You're not wrong. But I'm not crazy about-"

"Bullshit. And I know you want more, because I see the way you look at her when you think no one's watching. Because you can't go half an hour without touching her. Because I've been down here for three weeks and you guys are actually making me sick with all of your glances and awkward conversations. What are you afraid of?"

Leo turned to her, giving her his full attention for the first time since she walked into the lab. "Why are you pushing this?"

"Someone on this plane deserves to be happy."

He swallowed thickly. "We are happy."

"Really?" Skye shut her laptop and headed for the doors, "then why are you the only one down here?"

"Skye." She paused and turned to look at him, "I hear you. …Could you make sure she gets some sleep?" He pulled at his ear. "Til I'm done." She nodded. And then he was alone.

…

Two hours and one successfully completed assignment later Leo found himself standing outside of Jemma's pod, fist hovering over the door. He chewed at his bottom lip, "just do it, you twat." He pulled his fist back, readying to knock, then dropped it to his side. He turned to his left, then back to the door, raising his hand again. He shook his head, dropping it. "No, I should let her sleep." He turned to his left again. "Ah! Skye! You startled me."

Skye rolled her eyes and rapped her knuckles against the door three times before walking off, "just get it over with and you'll both be happier!"

"Quit rushing me!"

She waved her hand over her shoulder at him. "Just call me your own personal catalyst!"

"That's not quite how catalysts work-"

"Fitz?" He turned to find a semi-well rested Jemma in a faded t-shirt and pajama bottoms staring at him with a raised eyebrow. "You alright? It's not another mission, is it?

He scratched at the back of his neck. "Yes, and no." He reached out and tugged on a lock of her hair, rubbing the soft strands between his fingers. "I'm sorry I picked a fight with you earlier."

She rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, entwining their fingers, "we both get cranky pulling all nighters. I remember eight semesters of finals weeks." He smiled. "You don't have to apologize for it." She gave his fingers a squeeze.

"Yeah, no, I know. But it's more than that… it's…" He looked at the ceiling, sighing. "These last few missions have been dangerous-"

She dropped his hand. "I know you don't want to be here, and that it's my fault-"

He grabbed her fallen hand, thumb brushing over her knuckles. "It's not that, either." He brought her hand to his lips, smiling into her skin as he kissed it. "I'm glad we're on this stupid bloody plane."

Ward entered the room and grabbed a file off of one of the end tables, retreating without sparing them a glance, but Jemma pulled her hand back anyway, blushing. "Hard to get privacy on it, though." He chewed his bottom lip, hesitating, before he rested his hands on her hips, thumbs brushing skin, and pushed her back into her room, his foot managing to slide the door closed behind them. "Leo, wha-"

He swallowed her words with a press of his lips against hers, hands pulling her hips closer. She sighed into his his mouth as he moved his lips against hers, fingers sliding up his neck and tugging his curls. He sucked at her bottom lip and her fingers paused. He pulled back. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

Jemma pulled him back to her, cutting him off. His hands left her hips and cupped her face as she deepened the kiss.

He managed to pull back once again and found her eyes, "sorry it took me so long."

She smiled, fingers tangling in his tie, and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "You can be an idiot."

He brushed his thumbs against her cheeks and rested his forehead against hers. "So I've been told. How tired are you?"

She yanked at his tie, bringing his lips to hers again, and whispered against them "I'm awake enough for this."


	5. warm

They usually wait up for each other when one of them is away on a mission; a once rare occurrence that has grown in frequency over the months, but this latest assignment lasted four days and its going on three in the morning when Jemma is finally allowed to board the docked plane, her short puffs of breath fogging the air in front of her as she crosses the cold hanger, so she does not expect Leo to be up and waiting for her.

Still, she cannot help the twinge of disappointment that plucks at her heartstrings when Coulson is the only one standing on the ramp, hands crossed, to greet her.

But his smile is genuine, if small, and his suit is a little wrinkled, and she knows that he had been sleeping on the couch while waiting for her to return because she has seen him do it a dozen times before for each of them. "Good to have you back on board, Simmons."

He is looking at her with the same expression that her father wears when she brings home another award or shows him another one of her aced tests and she has to bite the inside of her cheek until the raw homesickness subsides. "Good to be back, sir."

"How'd your post physical go?" She pretends not to notice him checking her over for injuries as they walk toward the pods, wishes that she could tell him how much she appreciates his concern after four days with SHIELD agents who could not care less about her health as long as she did her part, keeps her hands from rubbing her arms to try to warm herself so that he does not worry over her.

"Passed with flying colors, sir."

He nods, shoulders relaxing marginally and eyes softening around the edges, as they pause outside of her pod. "Good, get some sleep."

"No debriefing, sir?"

"It can wait a few hours, unless there's something pressing?"

"No sir. Thank you, sir."

He turns to leave, his features conflicted, before turning back and giving her shoulder a small squeeze. His hand drops as he mostly contains his proud smile, lips turning up at the edges, and as she watches him walk off she misses her father a little more and a little less.

…

She unceremoniously tosses the tattered, mud-caked duffel on her bed, bits of dirt tumbling onto the unused comforter, and changes into her pajamas. She eyes the bed for a minute, debating; it looks wonderfully comfortable and spacious and warm, so warm, especially compared to the rumpled sleeping bag tucked into the duffel bag's handles, and her sore muscles ache at the thought of stretching out on it. But her pillow is missing, and she has not slept in it in weeks, anyway, and Fitz would understand if she chose to sleep here instead after a long mission, but he would still be a little heartbroken.

So she slips out the door and pads over to his pod, sliding his door open and smiling at the sight of him in a deep sleep sprawled out under the half kicked off covers, her pillow tucked under one of his arms. She crosses the small room in two steps and kneels next to him, fingers brushing into his curls. "Leo…" He pushes his head into her hand and lets out a deep, contented sigh, lips curving into a smile. She leans over and kisses his cheek before murmuring into his ear, "Leo…"

He blinks slowly as she pulls back, fingers still tangling in his hair, his eyes gradually focusing until he sees her. "Jem…" his knuckles skim her cheek as his fingers comb into her hair, "you're home."

She bites her lip at that. She still misses her flat, or her parents' house, but the ache is less and less. And it was not her flat that she daydreamed about while on missions; it was the canteen, too small for six people, although they all still managed to gather for a meal together a few times a week anyway, or the lab, where the two of them were never alone together for long; the other team members always stopping in to chat or watch whatever movie they had on in the background, or this tiny bed, not designed or intended for extended or repetitious use and definitely not for two adults. "Yeah."

He rolls onto his side, shifting his back toward the wall, and lifts the covers, sleepy eyes and soft smile beckoning her, and she can almost feel the heat of his body radiating off of him, can imagine him slowly warming her from her skin to her core. Exhaustion creeps into her muscles as she lifts herself into the bed and he barely lets her lay down, her back against his chest, before he drops the blanket over their shoulders and curls his arm around her waist, pulling her into him and entangling their legs. "You're freezing." His hand gently kneads her arm as he places soft kisses on her shoulder, his feet rubbing her calves.

"Hmm, I'm better, now."

She can feel him smile into her shoulder, his mouth radiating warmth through the thin fabric, as he slips his hand into hers and entwines their fingers, his rough callouses a familiar map against her skin. His lips lazily trail soft kisses across her shoulder and up her neck before he buries his nose in her hair. He lets out a deep sigh and drapes their woven hands over her chest, tries to hug her closer. "How'd it… go?"

He is drifting off, she knows, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm against her back, the puffs of air hitting her neck slowing, her own eyelids becoming heavy. "Smooth, I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Mmm… tha's good." He does not say anything for a long time after that, and she is sure that he is asleep, but he takes a deep breath and tilts his head, murmuring "love you" into her ear and pressing another kiss into her hair.

She looks at the pictures of the two of them that he has pinned to his wall and smiles, finally warm, from skin to core, for the first time in four days. "I love you, too."


	6. hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short drabble about Fitz's thoughts during the moment in 0215 where he and Jemma hold hands while surrounded by SHIELD agents

He would have given almost all that he had; his intellect, his talents, his pride, to hold her hand. Given even more; his very career, the letters that follow his name, for her to be the one to reach out and thread her fingers through his. Ever since they became partners. He watches, curious, as her hand drifts over his lap, breath stilling as he feels her fingers wrap around his palm, soft skin catching against rough calluses, and as her hand constricts against his in a comforting squeeze he swallows away the irony of all that he has lost.

In that moment, as with every other moment since he woke, words seem to drift just out of his reach and he wants to say 'I'm sorry, I've missed you, I need you, I'm broken, I'm NOT broken, please stay' but his mouth is dry and his tongue is heavy and there are guards with guns so he places his hand over hers, feels her squeeze tighter, and releases his breath.

He mourned the loss of his mind and her friendship as one, but he would give whatever he had left to repair the latter, because yes they can get by without each other and no they are not inseparable, especially not since… but he's homesick for her; misses her like he misses Scotland and somehow a few seconds ago she felt just as far away, with her shoulder brushing his. But now… He glances over and she meets his eyes but cannot hold his gaze, not yet. Still, he glimpses her apology, her regret, feels the shift between them as she intertwines their fingers under the protection of his other hand, and, despite the current, extremely confusing situation, feels hope.


End file.
